Lindsay McKenna - A Proposal for Christmas

She held her breath.

“Your mother and grandmother are both gone now?” David asked gently.

Holly was unaccountably relieved, though her throat tightened when she answered. “Grandmother passed away, yes. Mother married a missionary doctor and we don’t see her very often.”

David’s rugged face seemed to grow taut for a moment. “You’ve never been married?”

Holly shook her head. “I almost was, once.” Strange. She could think of Ben now, without hurting. “What about you?”

David laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound or in the ink-blue flash of his eyes. Holly knew before he spoke that he’d once been hurt, and very badly. “I got married during my second year of law school,” he said. “Marleen was a graduate student in Animal Sciences.”

There was anger as well as pain in his voice. Holly deduced that Marleen had not died, as Ben had. “And?” she prompted.

“And she’s now in Borneo studying chimps. She finds them endlessly fascinating and far less demanding, I would imagine, than a husband.”

The bitterness in his tone stung Holly profoundly. David still loved Marleen despite his anger; she was sure of it. And for some reason, that hurt. “I’m sorry,” she said, getting up hastily to go to the coffeemaker and bring the decanter back to the table, where she refilled her own cup and then David’s.

“Don’t be,” David replied succinctly. “Marleen is happy.”

But what about you? Holly wanted to ask, though, of course, she didn’t dare. She put sugar into her coffee—something she never did—and kept her eyes averted.

“You said you were almost married once. What happened, Holly?”

Holly’s throat constricted again. “My fiancé was killed,” she managed to say. “He was working on a construction project in Alaska and...and he fell.”

“You loved him a lot, didn’t you?”

Holly nodded. “I wanted to die, too, at the time. And I was so angry.”

There was a short, companionable silence. The coffeemaker made gurgling sounds and the fire crackled on the kitchen hearth. David’s hand came, strong and warm, across the tabletop, to shelter Holly’s hand.

It was then that Toby shuffled into the kitchen, looking sleepy and rumpled in his cherished Spider-Man pajamas. “Is it time to go to school, Mom?” he asked, befuddled.

Holly’s eyes darted involuntarily to David’s face, then shifted to her nephew. “No, sweetheart, it’s still night. Go back to bed.”

Toby gave David a curious look. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

“This is Mr. Goddard, Toby. He’s a friend of mine, a student in my cooking class.”

Toby assessed David again. “You cook?” he wanted to know.

David laughed and the odd tension Holly had felt was broken. “Not very well, slugger,” he retorted kindly, “but I’m learning.”

“I’m not going to learn,” Toby said firmly, drawing just a bit nearer to David, sensing, as Holly did, that this was a man who liked children.

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” David asked. And he sounded truly interested, not patronizing. “Don’t you think men should cook?”

Toby shrugged, not exactly sure what he thought. “Mom cooks enough stuff. Do you think men should cook?”

David thought. “Yeah,” he answered presently.

“Why?”

“Because they get hungry.”

Toby grinned. “Wanna see my airplane?”

David looked to Holly for her permission; she liked him for doing that. She nodded.

“Sounds interesting,” the man said to the boy, and then they were off to Toby’s room to inspect the radio-controlled Cessna. The sound of their retreating voices gave Holly an odd feeling of well-being. Which was immediately spoiled by the ringing of the telephone.

She answered with a brisk and biting, “Yes?”

“Who is that Goddard guy?” Skyler demanded without preamble.

Holly drew a deep breath, then let it out again. Control, she must maintain her control. “David is a friend of mine, Skyler.” Sugary acid slipped past her resolve, dripping from every word. “I am allowed to have friends, aren’t I?”

“Not men!”

“Good night, Skyler,” Holly sang, and then she set the receiver firmly back in its cradle.

Seconds later, the telephone rang again.

“Hello?” Holly said sweetly.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me again, Holly Llewellyn!” Skyler shouted.

Of course, Holly had no choice but to do exactly that. She then adjusted her answering machine to pick up on the first ring. If Skyler chose to call again, he would be cordially invited to leave his name, number and message. If he felt called upon to deliver a lecture, he would get only an electronic whirring sound in reply.

Holly was at the sink when David returned to the kitchen; though she didn’t hear him, not consciously at least, she was aware of him in every sense. She stiffened as he came toward her, his boots making a melodic sound on the hard brick floor.

“Holly?”

She turned to face him. She couldn’t keep her fingers from clenching the counter behind her.

David stopped, looking stricken. “You’re afraid of me.”

“Y-yes.”

“Why?”

How could she explain, when she didn’t understand it herself? She was afraid of David Goddard, and yet his nearness was causing every nerve ending in her body to jump and crackle like naked electrical wire. Not even Ben—tender, laughing, lost Ben—had ever affected her in quite that way.

“Holly?” he prompted.

Holly felt very silly and not a little old-maidish. She blushed and gave a nervous, shaky laugh. “It’s not as though I think you’re...I mean...I know you’re not—”

He was closer now. Holly could feel the heat and the strength of him. He was not yet touching her, but God help her, she wanted him to. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and— He did. He kissed her. He cupped his gentle, strong hands, one on each side of her flushed face, bent his head, and kissed her. His lips were soft and cautious, making no demands.

A strange warmth filled Holly, stabbing her in some places, soothing her in others. She trembled when his tongue persuaded her lips to part for him and she moaned at his thorough, masterful yet entirely tender conquering.

And his body was warm and hard against Holly’s, pressing, igniting licking flames of unfamiliar, unexpected passion. It hadn’t been like this with Ben, she reflected frantically. Not even when they actually made love.

David drew back suddenly, with an obvious effort. “I’d better leave,” he said in a hoarse voice, his eyes not quite linking with Holly’s.

She was wounded and still breathless. “David—”

At last he looked at her, and she saw anguish in the depths of his eyes, along with a cold, self-directed anger. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, reaching for his jacket.

Holly wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, except make love to David Goddard and have him make love to her. And that wasn’t possible, of course, because they’d only known each other for a day and because Toby was sleeping upstairs. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t I?” he asked, speaking more to himself, it seemed, than to Holly.

Holly couldn’t believe the crazy things that were going on inside her, the aching, melting sensations. The howling hunger. And her breasts. Her breasts quivered with a need to be fondled, their tips still at eager attention. What was happening to her?

“Will you come and have dinner with Toby and me tomorrow night, David?” she heard herself ask.

A log fell in the fireplace, sparks snapping. The silence was terrible and so was Holly’s suspense. Which would be worse: his refusal or his acceptance?